


Heir To The Throne

by tillyenna



Series: NYR Punishment verse [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Everyone is Poly Because NYR, Face-Fucking, Goalie Nesting, Humiliation, M/M, Platonic Affection, Rookie Initiation, Slight feminization, Snowballing, Spanking, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Trope Subversion/Inversion, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna
Summary: Igor Shesterkin has been called up from Hartford to the New York Rangers, and he's heard great things about how the Rangers welcome their rookies - things that as an experienced sub in the BDSM scene he's really been looking forward to, so when his mentor will barely look at him, he starts to fixate on why Lundqvist might hate him.Henrik has been feeling uneasy with his team, it's been a while since he nested, and his best friend Marc thinks that's probably the case. Henrik agrees to try some nesting/bonding with a few of the rookies - with his own special brand of Dominance thrown inThis fic fits in with my wider NYR verse. In fact it is the basis of my wider NYR verse.
Relationships: Brett Howden/Igor Shesterkin, Henrik Lundqvist/Adam Fox, Henrik Lundqvist/Brett Howden, Henrik Lundqvist/Filip Chytil, Henrik Lundqvist/Igor Shesterkin, Henrik Lundqvist/Ryan Lindgren, Mats Zuccarello/Marc Staal, Mats Zuccarello/Marc Staal/Henrik Lundqvist
Series: NYR Punishment verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654312
Comments: 66
Kudos: 86





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a BDSM based fic, whilst this fic DOES include some work around consent and safe play, unsafe play and consent issues make for inherently more interesting fiction. If you are looking to explore a BDSM lifestyle or BDSM play please do not use ANY work of fiction as an example, instead try looking up some non fiction works (books/articles) to start your journey.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to [aleks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis) for the beta'ing, for the checking of my grammar, for the fixing of my issues with tense and POV, but most of all.... for getting me hooked on this damn sport. About 6 months ago, I said to her "I want a team with a really experienced goalie and a bunch of young rookies for a nesting fic concept and I'll start writing hockey fic", she gave me the NYR, and I've been hooked ever since (incidentally, this fic has turned out NOTHING like how I wanted it to, because Igor turned up and stole my heart.... and Henke's too)

##  _ Igor’s POV _

January 7th, 2020 and Igor skates off the ice unable to keep the grin off his face. This is truly the dream. He’s just played his first official game, no, fuck that, he’s just won his first official game with the Rangers. He’s here, he’s in New York, he’s not in Russia any more and, if the rumours about what the Rangers do to their rookies after their first games is true, his night is only about to get better. 

Sure, most of the rookies see it for what it really is, brutal initiation, designed to knock them down a peg after the high of their first game, stop them getting too big for their pads. But most rookies aren’t Igor, most rookies didn’t spend the first 20 years of their life trying desperately to escape one of the most homophobic countries on the planet, most rookies don’t get half hard from the way their teammates throw orders around and most teammates don’t have the veteran that he has. He doesn’t try particularly hard to hide the fact that Lundqvist’s calm, concise orders just make him want to drop to his knees there and then on the ice. On one hand, he doesn’t think any of his teammates are actually interested enough in him to have noticed, on the other hand, he honestly doesn’t care if they do.

Skating off the ice, surrounded by his boisterous, delighted teammates, he can feel the tension building in him but, as he sits down in his extra wide stall, his eyes track The King as he moves around the room, stripping his own clothes off efficiently as always.

From what the other rookies had told him, their vets had claimed them before they’d had the time to get their kit off, some of them shoved up against the walls of the locker room, pants down and a cock in their ass before they could work out whose it was. Whilst Igor doesn’t have the excitement of wondering which vet would claim him, clearly, as a goalie, he belongs to The King, he does feel tension building as he sees Lundqvist heading off to the showers. He is nothing, however, if not well behaved, and he removes his pads but nothing else, sitting there patiently with his hands on his knees. 

It’s like Lundqvist doesn’t see him, bustling about as he efficiently dries off, and dresses in his oh so elegant suit, looking ridiculously sharp as always. He’s first dressed and first to head out, which is very unlike him, before he goes he grabs Staalsy by the bicep, and shoots a pitying, almost disgusted look towards Igor.

“Buttercup,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, but Igor is straining to hear him. “Can you deal with that for me?”

Marc Staal nods, before querying, “By deal with that, do you want me to do it myself?” A sharp growl out of Henrik’s mouth answers that question for him, “Got it King H, I’ll sort it out.”

Henrik nods for a moment, before pressing his forehead gently against his teammate’s, and then heads out of the locker room. The rest of the team seem to sense the atmosphere, and there’s only a few of them left when Staalsy walks over to where Igor is sat, crouching down in front of him.

“Hey kid,” Marc’s hand is on his knee, but Igor refuses to meet his eye. “Igor,” he says, more firmly this time, reaching up to cup Igor’s cheek in one hand, guiding his face so it’s impossible to not meet his gaze. “This isn’t about you.”

“So it not he think I not good enough to back him up then?” Igor spits back angrily. “Because that what this seem like.” His accent is thicker, and he’s letting his anger show, but he knows, because Staal is looking right at him, that he must be able to see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Marc shakes his head. “This is about Hank and his hangups,” he says softly. “You’re one of his, he just shows it differently from the rest of us.” 

“He hate me.” Igor knows he’s sulking, he can feel the childishness.

Marc shakes his head, and then softly, so none of the others would be able to hear, says, “If he hated you, he wouldn’t care if one of the rest of us did it.” He reaches up, and a gentle thumb wipes away the treacherous tear that had slid down Igor’s cheek. “Let’s get you showered and dressed, eh?”

If the purpose of initiation is to stop the rookie getting too big for their boots, Lundqvist has unintentionally stumbled on the only way to do this to Igor. Usual methods of shaming people just turn him on, but this, this complete and utter disdain, this breaks his heart.

It’s not until he’s finally home, not alone, never alone in the house he has to share with 4 other rookies, but alone in his room, that he allows himself to think of how he wanted the evening to go. He pictures himself gliding off the ice, Henrik wrapping his arms around him and whispering in his ear how good he’d been. Telling him how well he’d done, how every man on the team wanted him, but none of them could have him because he belonged only to The King. He allows his tired hands to sweep softly down his own torso, imagining Lundqvist stripping him of his kit, hands soft on the buckles, delicate with the pads, and then rough as they force him to bend over.

With the softest sigh of resignation, Igor reaches over to his bedside table, getting his lube and a dildo out - not his largest, but one he knows has just the right angle for him. He imagines it’s Henrik’s fingers sliding inside him instead of his own; starts with two, moving swiftly up to three because, in his mind, Henrik is too impatient to prepare him properly, and the burn as he twists his own fingers inside himself makes his cock twitch. He covers the dildo in lube, biting his lip as he imagines the older goaltender slicking himself up, a look of adoration on his face, nothing like the look he’d actually seen. And then, not wanting to wait, he slides the toy inside of himself, thrusting roughly, taking no care over himself because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He bites the top of his bicep to stop himself from calling out Lundqvist’s name, there’d be no living the chirps down tomorrow if the others heard him. It doesn’t take long, but however hard he tries to imagine this fantasy Henrik, the kind king, the image in his face as he comes across his own stomach is the look of utter disdain Lundqvist had shot him, just before he’d walked away.

He continues to think that Lundqvist hates him throughout his second game, and the break he has while Georgiev dresses for the games instead of him. It’s not until after his third game with the Rangers, the two goals which practically gave the game away to the Blue Jackets, that his opinion is changed. 

Igor comes off the ice, managing not to stumble on the way to the locker room, but only just. Henrik is just behind him and he’s expecting to be yelled at, if not by Lundqvist himself, by one of the alternate captains. Instead, he feels the older man’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him down into his stall.

Henrik asks him something in English, his voice softer than Igor has ever known it, but that doesn’t mean he has the brain power to understand him. He looks blankly at him for a moment, and then Henrik has beckoned Buchnevich over. 

<<He wants to know if you’re feeling OK?>>

Igor scrubs his hands over his face, <<Tired, very tired.>>

Pavel clearly translates this to the other goaltender. 

Henrik nods, “I’m not surprised.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “These fuckers play maybe two minutes, huh?” He’s soft, and smiling as he kneels down in front of Igor, shooing Buchnevich away. 

“Pads off,” he says softly, tapping each pad in turn. 

Igor’s not really following the English, but the instructions are obvious enough, and very welcome. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to take his own gear off, it’s more that he’s so tired he thinks he might just sit there without clear direction. Still, Lundqvist sits down next to him, and as he removes each piece of his own kit, he leans over and tells Igor to do the same.

It’s not until they’re in their under armour that Henrik crouches back down in front of him. 

“Sorry,” Igor manages to force out, meeting the older man’s gaze for the first time. “I fail you. “

“No!” Henrik says sharply, and then, softer, with a gentle touch to his young teammate’s cheek, “No. You did not fail me.” He raises his voice slightly, and whilst he’s staring at Igor, it’s clear he’s talking to the whole room. “Our defense failed me today. Our defense who know that a goalie plays a game three times as long as any of them do, who know how much a goalie will be flagging, who know they should be supporting their goalie in the last period more than ever, and in the last five minutes even more than that.” 

The defensemen who are around shuffle awkwardly and look at their feet, there’s a couple of mumbles of “Sorry, Hank,” or “Sorry, King Henrik” from the older guys, but he’s not really listening to them.

His attention is back on Igor, all venom gone from his voice as he says softly, “You did so well. You stopped nearly 30 shots, they let us both down, but you have done nothing wrong.”

It’s impossible not to believe him, the sincerity in his voice, the steadiness of his gaze. Igor can do nothing but nod and, when Henrik pulls gently at his under armour, continue to follow his instructions. 

He follows the older man through to the showers, slotting into the shower next to him, hardly surprised when a hand reaches through the curtain and taps first his body wash, then his shampoo.

Once he’s dressed again, exhausted and shivering, Henrik stands in front of him, and takes the comb out of Igor’s tired hands, running it through his hair. To be honest, it’s probably the best his hair has ever looked post game, but it’s the care and attention that makes him feel warm inside, the soft smile tugging at the corner of Lundqvist’s mouth. When the older man reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair back with soft fingers, Igor can feel himself blushing deeply. He’s sure everyone is watching them, sure everyone can notice that he’s been half hard this entire time, exhaustion or no, but he doesn’t care, because Henrik doesn’t hate him. 

It’s not until the next day that Igor thinks that perhaps it’s because Henrik is homophobic, perhaps that’s his problem with him. But the more he watches him, the more he realises this can’t be the case; for one thing, Staal is always in physical contact with Lundqvist, either an arm slung around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek, the occasional soft kiss on the lips when they don’t think anyone is paying that much attention. 

When they go out on a team night together, one of the rare ones where Henrik actually shows up, the older members of the team, Fast, Skjei, Buchnevich, all take care to give Henrik a soft kiss goodnight when they decide to go their separate ways - Igor’s expecting Staal to do the same, but then the two of them walk out together, not holding hands, but shoulder to shoulder, closer than if they had been, and one of the others muttered that they’d got into the same cab. 

He’d thought at first that maybe they were just greeting kisses, like at home, which was why he hadn’t paid attention to it, but that isn’t the case. These are soft, light touches of teeth, Henrik snagging people’s lips with an authoritative nip, occasional tongue, there is nothing to suggest these are just kisses between friends, and besides, Americans don’t do that anyway. It can’t be homophobia, that wouldn’t make sense, and as Igor sits there, drinking his terrible American vodka (seriously, who do they think they’re trying to fool), he searches the depths of his brain to try and work out why Henrik Lundqvist hates him. 


	2. Chapter 1: Staalsy is a perceptive dick

##  _ Marc Staal’s POV _

It’s not until they’re all chilling in a bar, midweek and quiet, that Marc has a chance to get Hank on his own for a few minutes. They sit apart from the rest of the team, heads bowed together, talking quietly about nothing in particular, until Marc has the confidence to bring up what’s on his mind.

“I think you’re nesting Hank,” he says softly.

Hank dismisses him with a derisive snort, “Don’t be ridiculous Buttercup, I’m 37, I haven’t done that since…” he falters, there’s a flicker of pain across his face. “I don’t nest,” he ends, staring his teammate down across the table.

It’s taken years of practice for Marc to be able to meet Hank’s gaze, he’s never been more grateful for it than now. “Uh huh?” he questions, before his eyes flicker, just briefly down to the table in front of them, and then back up to Hank’s calm, defensive gaze. “Then where are all the beer mats?”

Hank sighs for a moment, before reaching into his jacket pocket for the stack of beer mats that had been added there one by one, and slides them onto the table, “That doesn’t mean I’m…”

“You growled at four different forwards today.” Marc interrupts him.

Hank shoots him a look. “I was defending my net.” he says simply.

“For two of them, yes, the other two were when Krieds got checks on Foxy and Leebs.”

“He shouldn’t be hitting that hard during scrimmage,” Henrik sounds almost petulant as he glares across the table at Marc.

“You’re nesting,” is all Marc says, quiet, but unyielding.

“Like fuck I am,” Hank spits at him, uncharacteristically agressive for just a moment, and then he shrinks back, as if he’s remembering himself, remembering who he’s talking to. “I can’t Marc,” he says softly, hands scrubbing across his face and, for just a second, Marc thinks he actually looks his age for once. “You know why I can’t.”

“And if you need to?” Marc knows the expression that’s on Henrik’s face, it’s the same one that he sees every time Mats comes up in conversation these days, somewhere between heartbreak and longing.

Hank has no answer for that, he simply stands and walks away.

Marc waits until he’s ready for bed, half naked and snuggled under his covers, before he hits the video call button.

“Heyyyy,” comes the familiar voice at the other end. “I’m just eating, is that ok?”

“It’s fine,” Marc can’t keep the smile out of his voice. “How was training today?”

“Ugh,” Mats rolls his eyes, “I missed you guys a lot today.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “I fucked up during training, and everyone was so fucking nice about it.” 

Marc can’t help his little snort of laughter. “That’s what the Rangers do, ruin you for people actually being caring and supportive.”   
  


“Hey,” Mats sticks his tongue out at him, and then, for a moment, blushes, gazing down at his plate of food before back up at his ex-teammate. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind.”

Staalsy lets out a low chuckle, like he ever minds punishing Mats for his behaviour, “Of course not baby,” he says softly, and then, “But I do need to talk something over with you first.”   
  


Mats nods, and then, around a mouthful of dinner, “You talk, I’ll listen.”

Marc carefully explains, explains Hank’s behaviours, explains the conversation they’d had earlier that day, feeling lighter even as he tells Mats.

“He’s definitely nesting,” Mats agrees eventually,

“Thank you!” Marc grins at him down the phone. “Although I didn’t ring you just so you could prove me right.”

“I can understand his hesitation,” Mats admits. “Given what happened…” he trailed off, not wanting to relive it too vividly.

“He’s nested since then,” Marc protested.

“With the two of us, sure.”

Marc frowns for a moment, “You think I should offer?”

Mats can’t help the laugh that bubbles up inside him and comes out as a snort. “Fuck no,” he says, but the laughter has caught him, and he can’t stop.

“Hey!” Marc protests weakly.

“I’m sorry babe, just the idea of you and Henke without me,” Mats starts giggling again. “I’d give you half an hour before you broke the rulers out and actually started a dick measuring contest.”

“I hate you,” Marc says, but there’s no malice in his voice and he gives Mats a loving smile through the video call.

Mats flashes a grin at him, before his face turns somber, “I wish I could be there though.”

“Sixteen days,” Marc says softly. “Sixteen days.”

“You’re on a back to back though.” Mats sighs, it’s no secret they have each other’s schedule pinned up next to their own.

“If you think I’m not going to find an hour in my day to come and find you, you are wrong,” Marc is insistent. “Jesus, Mats, I haven’t touched you for too long.”

“I know love.” Mats is soft, all thoughts of Hank gone.

The next day, Marc’s hanging out in the players’ lounge with the rest of the team when he gets a text from Mats.

>>still at the rink?

>>yh chilling in the lounge

>>H there?

>>?? Yes

>>I have a plan. I need you to facetime me, and then angle the camera so I can see him in the background.

>> Bossy much?

>>Trust me. And invite your rookies over to meet me.

Marc sighs and presses the call button. “Hey,” his voice is bright, friendly, but with none of the tenderness of the night before.

“Hey Staalsy.” Mats is just the same, they are old teammates now, friends, best friends even, certainly nothing more.

“See,” Marc continues their conversation, waving his phone around so Mats can see everyone’s faces, angling it when he brings it to a stop, so Hank is clearly visible a few tables over. “Everyone’s here, everyone misses you.”

Mats sticks his tongue out at him. “Where are your rookies, I don’t feel like a proper Ranger anymore.” He’s sat on his sofa at home, alone, totally able to say these things away from his teammates.

“Oi,” Marc yells loudly, “Defense rookies, get your asses over here.”

Obediently, Lingo and Foxy wander over, dragging Howds and Chyta with them, and crowd in around their alternate.

“Ohhhh,” Foxy grins, “It’s The Hobbit!” 

Mats rolls his eyes at the nickname but grins. “Hey Tiny Rangers,” he says patronisingly.

“I think they’re all taller than you,” Marc chirps softly, before introducing the younger players. They chat for a few minutes, Mats noting Hank clearly sulking in the background but not actually doing anything about it.

“Don’t you have another rookie?” Mats asks, he knows just which of Hank’s buttons to push.

“Of course,” Marc grins, wide before calling out, “Shestyorkin, get over here.”

The young Russian raises his gaze from where he’d been staring at his phone. “Me?” he points at himself, a little dumbly.

“Any other Shestyorkin’s on the team we should know about?” Marc teases as he comes over. “Come meet Mats,”

“Hello,” Igor flashes one of his blinding grins. “It very good to meet you, Mr Zuccarello,” 

Before Mats has a moment to respond, Hank is striding across the room, and taking the phone out of Staalsy’s hand. “No fraternizing with the enemy,” he says down the phone. “You know that rule, Mats.”

“Mats isn’t the enemy!” Marc protests, but Hank is already passing the phone; call already ended.

“To you and me? No,” Hank shakes his head. “Of course not. But I don’t want him talking to the rookies.” He takes a final swig of his coffee, before pressing the empty cup into Igor’s hands, “Wash this up rookie, I’m headed out.”

Marc watches in stunned silence as Hank swans out of the room, Shestyorkin heading to the small kitchen area to wash out the netminder’s mug, the other rookies slinking off dejectedly. He unlocks his phone, and sends a quick text to Mats.

>>well…. 

>>I’m sat here laughing so hard

>>???

>> H has the worst crush on that rookie

>>....

>> I can’t blame him either…. Jesus that smile 

>> oi!

>> obviously nothing on your smile <3

>> sap

He calls Mats later that evening, when he’s tucked up in bed. “Love you,” he starts with.

“You were right by the way, H is nesting,” Mats opens with, before adding a hasty, “I love you too.”

“What do we do about it? It’s not like you can fly out here.”

“Give me a few days to think over it, I think I can work out a way around his hang ups.”

Fortunately Marc doesn’t need to wait a few days, as Hank slides in next to him on the plane to Detroit.

“So what if I am nesting,” he asks, his voice soft and low. “What the fuck should I be doing about it?”   
  


Marc slings an arm around his shoulders in the way that only he could, knocks their heads gently together. “Acceptance is the first step on the road to recovery you know,” he chirps quietly.

“Fuck you.” Hank glares at him, but there’s no malice in it.

“So,” Marc keeps his voice low, so none of the others can hear them, “How about next time we have more than one day off in a row, I send a bunch of the cute rookies round to your place and you can do whatever the fuck you want with them, eh?”

Hank sighs, and it seems a testament to how much he’s struggling that he takes a minute before protesting, “You know why I can’t.”

“I mean, we’d obviously get them to agree to it first.”

Hank snorts, “How, get them to do a fucking consent checklist?”

Marc pauses for a moment, “I mean it’s not a bad plan.” When he gets no response from Hank he pushes on, “You know I’d talk to them for you.”

Hank doesn’t respond, just leans his head against his teammate’s shoulder. “No teenagers…. And not my boy, ok?”

Marc shoots him a sly smile, “The fact you just called him that means he’s top of my list.”

“I hate you.” Hank closes his eyes. “And I’m having a nap.”

“Sure,” Marc grins, picking his book back up. “I mean we’re only an hour away now, but you nap if you need to, old man.”

For a couple of minutes, there’s silence from the Swede, and Marc thinks he genuinely might have fallen asleep and then there’s a soft, “Will you apologise to Mats for me?”

“Apologise yourself you ass,” comes the soft reply. “He says you don’t call him enough.”

Hank shrugs, “He’s yours. I don’t want to tread on your toes.”

Marc gives a derisive snort, “Like you could ever do that.” He waits a beat, before adding, “We both love you, you know.”


	3. Chapter 2: Putting The Plan Into Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marc goes through the consent list with the rookies, it brings up something interesting that Henrik hadn't noticed Igor didn't like...

##  _ Henke’s POV _

It’s a few days later, and they’re on a plane (yet again), when Marc hands him a sheet of letter paper; it’s reasonably self explanatory, and pretty damn extensive. Both sides are covered, two columns on each side, with check boxes beside each item for “Yes, Maybe, No,”. The lists cover pretty much anything Henrik could think of, anything he’d want to do at least, ranging from cuddles and cheek kisses to whips, canes and bareback anal sex. He manages to keep a straight face as he reads it. “I still think this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m still not hearing a no,” Marc teases him, taking the paper back. “Any actual constructive feedback?”

“There’s not enough nuance about following orders.” Henrik finally meets his gaze, “Split that up into different sections, following general orders, following kink orders, following sexual orders.”

“Of course Your Majesty,” the tone is teasing, but the look on Staal’s face betrays how much he looks up to the older man. He tucks the paper back into his jeans pocket and pats Lundqvist on the knee. “I need to go and check on some of my babies, Hank,” he nods towards the front of the plane where most of the rookies are sat.

“Not without a kiss you don’t.” His tone is light, but the edge of authority underneath makes Marc smile.

Staal leans over and presses a kiss to his teammate’s lips; it’s closed mouthed, their kisses almost always are, but it’s soft and filled with love.

##  _ Igor’s POV _

Goalies are always a little separate from the rest of the team. Team but not quite team. Igor’s always known that, but he feels it here on the Rangers more than he ever did. Maybe it’s because Lundqvist, normally so helpful and encouraging about his hockey, refused to claim him, maybe it’s because his road roomie is Georgiev, like the trainers don’t know how terrible that is for both of them, like they don’t spend every off ice minute aware that they’re fighting each other for one job. It’s worse as well, while he occasionally manages conversations with Booch or Breadman, or even Georgiev himself, most of the locker room chat is in English, and he just can’t keep up. It’s a surprise then, when Marc Staal asks him to come up to his room with four of the other rookies.

He can’t help but look around the room as he walks in, having been in his room, and the rooms that the other rookies’ share, but never in one of the vet’s rooms - they get a king sized bed, and far more space than the half a room he’s expected to share. Howds, Foxy, Chyta and Lingo are all already there, lounging on Marc’s enormous bed, Igor contemplates joining them, but instead curls his long form into one of the tub chairs by the desk.

“So,” Marc grins, and there’s a hint of mischief behind it. “Who’s dealt with a nesting goalie before now?”

Igor feels all eyes on him for a moment, before he looks questioningly at Staalsy, “Nesting, I not know word.”

“Shit,” Marc swore, “I should have brought one of the other Russians to translate.” He pauses for a moment to think, “When a netminder really needs to, erm,” he flounders, looking towards Lingo.

Ryan takes over for a second, “Stealing jerseys, cuddling teammates kind of shit, yes?”

“Ah, ok.” Igor takes a moment to process, and then realises why everyone is staring at him. “Me? No. I not need….” he flounders looking at Staal, hoping his confusion shows on his face even if it isn’t clear in his words.

“Not him,” Marc rolls his eyes. “Hank.”

The other rookies look at each other for a moment in confusion before Lindgren speaks up, “But he’s….” 

“Old,” Foxy finishes bluntly for him.

Marc runs a hand through his hair. “It’s unusual yes, but not unprecedented.”   
  


“Why are you organising this?” Howdy asks him

Marc shrugs slightly, “Eh, Henrik’s complicated.” He starts handing round the copies of the sheet of paper that he’d made, “I need you all to fill these in.”

They’re glancing over the papers and shooting each other concerned glances, Igor has got his phone out and is using his translation app to scan it in.

“Is this for real?” Chyta asks. “This, is chirping, yes?”

Marc sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Not a prank, no, I want you guys to honestly fill those forms out.”   
  


“With what we’d be happy with The King doing, yeah?” Foxy clarifies with a smirk.

When Staal nods at them, it’s Lingo who chirps up, “I’m amazed we get a choice.”

“Of course you get a choice,” Marc frowns for a moment. “I thought that was made pretty clear when you stepped up to be a Ranger, yes, we have our…. quirks….” he looks over them with a fond eye, with perhaps a hint of sadness behind it. “But it’s always been clear that you don’t have to participate. Hank is even more particular about obtaining enthusiastic consent before he does anything.” He shakes his head briefly, like he’s trying to shake a thought out of his head, and he’s fiddling with his phone, something he always seems to do when he’s thinking too hard.

“Is this for now?” Lindgren asks, “Because we kind of have a game tomorrow.”

Marc snorts. “Like I don’t know that. No, it’ll be at home, next time we have a quiet enough day.”

Igor’s been quiet up until this point, working through the sheet with the help of his translation app, but he finally manages to word his question. “Is it, can add other things not on list?” he stammers out.

Marc frowns for a moment. “I mean, it’s a pretty long list, I guess, don’t add other stuff that you’re fine with, because it’s irrelevant, Hank won’t be if it’s not on that list.” He pauses, chewing on his lip, “If it’s something you don’t like, he still probably won’t do it if it’s not on that list.”

Igor can feel the back of his neck burning. “If is something he already do?” he questions. “That don’t like?”

For a second, Staal looks shocked, but then he schools his expression again. “I mean, I’d probably talk to him about that one straight away, but sure, put it on the list if it that’s easier for you.” 

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

It’s late that evening when Henrik gets a text from Marc asking him to come to his room - he knows it will be about this damn checklist that he won’t drop, but he goes anyway. When he gets there, Marc peels one sheet of paper from the pile and hands it to him. Henrik glances at the name scrawled across the top, “I told you not him.” He doesn’t trust himself with Igor, he wants him too damn much.

“Read the back.” Marc’s voice is quiet, there’s a steel in it that Henrik isn’t used to hearing

Henrik flicks it over, and his eyes are instantly drawn to the bottom of the page, where written in Igor’s spidery handwriting is the statement ‘being called boy’ and an emphatic tick placed in his hand drawn box under ‘No’.

Silently, Henrik hands the paper back to Marc, and heads straight for the room where his rookie goalies are supposed to be getting ready for bed. When he knocks on the door, it’s Alexandar who answers. “Give us five minutes please,” is all Henrik has to say, before the younger man nods and slips out past him. Igor looks at him expectantly as he stands there, but he needs a minute. Part of him wants to yell at the kid,  _ Why didn’t you tell me,  _ or  _ You should have told me _ but he knows this isn’t Igor’s fault…. It’s his.

“I’m sorry,” he settles for eventually, the air feels different between them, usually he can feel the charge of power flowing from Igor towards him, this time it feels reversed, it makes him uncomfortable, but not more than he thinks he deserves.

Shesyorkin shrugs. “You not know,” he says simply. “I not say.”

Henrik nods, slowly, sitting down on Georgiev’s bed so they’re sat opposite each other. “It’s habit,” he says. “But I’m sorry for not noticing.”   
  


Again, that easy going shrug, and then that gorgeous blinding grin that throws him every time he sees it. “Is not bad from you, worse from others.”

He frowns for a minute, trying to follow the younger man’s broken English. “Do you mean I use it less?”   
  


Igor shakes his head. “No, hurts less from you.”

That’s not good enough, and they both know it. “I won’t use it again,” he says, and then stops himself, that’s too bold a promise even for him to make. “I’ll try my damndest not to use it again.”

“Thank you.” It’s soft, and almost shy, and Henrik can’t actually bring himself to look at Shestyorkin, because he knows if he meets his eyes there’s going to be nothing stopping him from pushing him back onto his hotel room bed and ravishing him. Instead, he scrubs a hand across his own face, before asking, “Is there something else I can use? Something you don’t mind?”

Igor shrugs, waving his hand from side to side. “Is other, but is,” he looks like he’s searching for a particular word. “Shameful” he settles on eventually, the blush sliding up his neck, staining him dark pink all the way to his ears shows that he feels the shame even thinking about it, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gazes up at Henrik through his eyelashes shows that the shame isn’t entirely unpleasant for him.

Henrik can’t help himself, he reaches out and brushes his hand softly across Igor’s hair. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, “But if I can’t call you my good boy, I’d like something else to use.”

The tips of Igor’s ears start to turn as pink as his neck, but he grins broadly at Henrik, his smile as delighted as it is when he’s on the ice. “Is almost same,” he confesses, an awkward hand coming up to scrub the back of his neck. “I not good boy,” he continues, “I good….” he falters for a brief moment.

Henrik reaches out and cups a hand to Igor’s cheek, glancing down briefly shows him that Igor’s erection is clearly tenting in the sweats he’s wearing, the small damp spot where he’s leaking precum growing slowly. Henrik knows exactly where Igor is going with this, and is torn between putting him out of his misery and letting the tension in the air grow and see what grows with it. But Henrik is 13 years older than Igor, and it feels like more than 13 years wiser, so instead he sits back, withdrawing his hand, and asks gently, “Is it just the word, or…” He’s unsure how to phrase it.

Igor understands him nonetheless, chin jerking up defiantly. “I am man,” he says very definitely. “I just like word.”

This time, it’s Henrik who grins, unable to slow it. He licks his lips once, gently, bites his lower lip, and then, with a soft shake of his head, stands up to leave. “Thank you for telling me,” he reaches out again, to smooth a hand across Shestyorkin’s hair, and then, an impish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he leans down, and lips brushing against Igor’s ear, whispers, “Good girl.”


	4. Interlude: Marc & Mats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, the Rangers play the Wild :)
> 
> Then we get a look at the back story, and why Henke is being so twitchy about everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has discussions revolving around violations of consent and references instances in the past where a character has unknowingly violated the consent of one of the others.

##  _ Marc’s POV _

By the time Marc has dumped all of his stuff in his hotel room, the one he’s absolutely not planning on using, and has caught a cab across the river, it’s nearly 8pm local time. Thank fuck they’re using the Thursday as a travel day, he’ll be straight on the plane after the game tomorrow, but at least they have tonight. One of the rookies had asked where he was going as he was stepping out of the lobby and whether he’d be back in time for team dinner, and didn’t he know they had a curfew - so he’d left to the sound of his veteran teammates’ laughter, as well as a few shouts of “Enjoy your evening,” in the singsong voices of those who knew exactly what he was off to do.

Mats’ house is dark when Marc gets there, but he knocks anyway, the chances that Mats has forgotten is non existent. 

"Not locked," comes the familiar voice from inside, "Just come in." It's weird, but Marc knows why, knows the second that they see each other they're not going to be able to keep their hands off each other, and doing that on Mats' front door step seems like a terrible plan. 

He's closed the door and is only a few steps inside however when Mats ambushes him, throwing himself bodily at him - years of hockey practise means he doesn't flinch, years of Mats doing this to him means he catches him and slams him against the wall, smashing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. 

"Missed you," Mats mumbles against his mouth. 

"I'm here now," Marc runs a hand through Mats' hair, pressing soft kisses into his neck. 

It’s not until they’re breathless and Mats is leading Marc by the hand through to his bedroom, that he glances over his shoulder and, face carefully schooled into an innocent expression, “No Henke this evening then?”

At that, Marc grins, and jerks Mats’ wrist, pulling him back towards him, and then, when the smaller man is flush against him, using his free hand to slap him once, hard on the buttock. “I will hurt you for that,” he says, but the grin in his voice as he speaks against Mats’ neck betrays how not mad he is. “And I’ll invite him over for breakfast.”

  
  


They’re already on the plane back when Marc’s phone lights up with the text:

>> Happy Valentines Day! I love you. Did you like my present?

He frowns, wondering if he’d missed something that Mats had managed to slip into his suitcase.

>> Present?

>> :p totally let you guys win, for your valentines present. No?

Marc lets out a snort of laughter.

>> Best present ever. Love you so much.

>> 48 days. Miss you so much.

The number is like a stab to the heart. It’s when Mats is playing the Islanders. The next time they’ll see each other and, whilst they always count down the days together, 48 days seems like a really long time - even if time does fly towards the end of the season. Marc lifts up the arm rest between himself and Henrik and, without asking permission, lets his head fall onto the older man’s shoulder.

“I know Buttercup,” Henrik whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Marc’s head. “I know.”

It brings Marc back to where he is, and for a moment, he feels guilty that he’d kept Mats to himself, kept him from Henrik, especially with Henrik this close to nesting. He often wonders if it’s easier for him, although he misses Mats just as much, his relationship with Mats is easier to define, Henrik’s always felt like an intruder, no matter how many times Marc and Mats tell him otherwise. Still, perhaps what he’s planning with rookies will work, it’s about time Henrik let someone else in again, it’s about time he trusted himself enough.

_ Some years ago: _

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

Henrik pauses at the door to Marc and Mats’ house – this was a conversation he needed to have, but it wasn’t one he wanted to have. He’d spent the summer at some discreet clubs back home, learning how to be a better Dominant, but it had brought rise to some things in his past that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He knew that consent was one of the cornerstones of the weird team bonding of the Rangers, but it turned out there were varying levels of consent, and he couldn’t stop himself wondering if he’d violated them.

He realises he’s been stood outside the door for far too long, and just has to hope they hadn’t spotted him coming up the path. He rings the bell.

The door opens instantly to reveal Marc. “Was wondering how long that would take you,” he grins as Henrik steps inside.

Before Henrik can reply, he has an armful of tiny Norwegian.

“Henke!” Mats throws himself at the older man, burying his face in Henrik’s neck and inhaling deeply. “I missed you.”

“Babycakes.” Henrik forgets all the reasons he’d come round for a moment, sliding his arms around Mats’ waist. The feeling of Mats’ thick waist under his hands, the press of his body against his, this is what he’s missed all summer back in Sweden. He’s drawn by the idea of putting Mats on his knees right there and then, the familiarity of it, the way he and Mats fit so well together, the way Mats responds to him. He forces himself to take a step back.

He finds Marc’s hand on the back of his neck. “Everything OK, Boss?” Marc stands close to both of them.

“I need coffee,” Henrik sighs. “And probably to sit down and talk.”

Mats is clearly nervous, biting his lower lip.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Henrik assures him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The wording strikes him as weird, he’s not technically dating Mats, or Marc for that matter – they’re in a relationship with each other, but he scenes with them regularly enough, he’s best friends with both of them, and he loves them both in his way.

“Go and make us both coffees, Mats.” Marc says, the order given calmly.

Henrik feels a moment of gratitude for his friend, whenever they scene together there’s no doubt that Henrik is in charge, but there are moment like that, in their day to day life, when he falters, and Marc is always there to step in and take control when Henke can’t. He follows Marc to the living room, and they curl up at opposite ends of the couch, their usual places.

“Anything you want to talk to just me about?” Marc asks softly.

Henrik shakes his head, it’ll be easier to only have to say all of this once. He waits until Mats is back in the room, pressing a mug of his favourite coffee into his hands.

“Thank you love,” Henrik can’t resist tugging him closer to press a kiss to his lips.

Mats falls to his knees at Henrik’s feet, pressing his face into the older man’s thigh.

Henrik sighes, and with two fingers under Mats’ chin, coaxes him back up to standing. “I need you up for this, Babycakes,” he says softly.

Mats frowns slightly, but does as he’s told, sitting in between Marc and Henrik, still folding himself into Henrik’s side for a cuddle, tucking his feet up to the other side to wriggle underneath Marc’s thigh. He’d told them once that this was his happy place, between Henke and Marc, that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I wanted to talk to you both about consent.” Henrik dives straight in, he knows he’ll chicken out otherwise.

“You know we both consent to this,” Marc frowns at him, “We always have done.”

Henrik threads his hand through his hair for a moment, he’d known this would be hard to explain. “There’s consent and then there’s consent.” He frowns at his English, he’s usually far more eloquent than this. “What I mean to say is,” he pauses, gathering his thoughts, “I know you’ve both consented to sex with me, and to dynamic play with me, but we never actually spelled out what our scenes would entail, I just went with the flow, and that might have meant that there were some things you agreed to in the moment that you might not have agreed to otherwise.”

“Don’t be…” Marc starts, but is silenced by Henrik holding up a hand.

“Please.” Henrik looks at his oldest friend, regret in his eyes. “I’ve been learning a lot this summer, learning about how to scene more responsibly, and I just wanted to say that if I’ve ever done something in a scene that you’ve not felt 100% comfortable with, that we hadn’t agreed to, or that you didn’t feel you could tell me to stop, then I’m really sorry.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Marc rolls his eyes, “Like, you’d never do anything to make either of us uncomfortable, right?” There’s a momentary pause, and he pokes Mats in the leg, “Right Mats?”

Mats bites his lip, and then glances back over his shoulder at Henrik. “It’s nothing big,” he clarifies. “Nothing that matters.”

Henrik lets out a groan and slips off the sofa onto his knees at Mats’ feet, the complete reversal of how they are. “I’m sorry, love.” He takes both of Mats’ hands in his, staring up at him, “It doesn’t matter how small you might think it is, I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Mats gives him a small smile, leaning forward to press their foreheads together and for a brief moment, there’s no Marc in the room, just the two of them. “I know.”

“Can I ask what it was?” Henrik asks softly. “Just so I know not to do these things again.” Although he has already resolved that any scenes he does in the future will be painstakingly negotiated in advance.

Mats shrugs, “We never agreed that you’d decide who sleeps where on roadies, you just kind of assumed.”

Henrik swallows, it’s hard to hear the criticism, but he’s mature enough now to know he needs it to grow and change as a person.

“And, well,” Mats starts to blush, “When you’re nesting, you’re a little more, erm,” he glances towards Marc, nerves clear as day on his face. “You’re rougher than I’d probably like on a normal day.” He notices Henrik breaking eye contact and reaches out to touch his face. “Only when you’re nesting love,” he reassures him. “Only then, normally you’re the best at reading my limits.”

Henrik nods slowly, “Can I give you a cuddle?” he asks tentatively. “I’m sorry, and I completely understand if the answer is no.”

Mats grins at him. “Of course,” he holds out his arms to Henrik, but Henrik climbs back onto the couch, pulling Mats into his embrace. “I hereby always consent to cuddles with you whenever you feel it appropriate.”

“Thank you love,” Henrik murmurs, barely more than a whisper, and he’s not just thanking Mats for the consent, he’s thanking him for being brave enough to be honest, and he’s thanking him for trusting Henrik, even when he feels he doesn’t deserve it.


	5. Chapter 3: Game Day

##  _ Igor’s POV _

They all go out for dinner after the Bruins game, all of them except Henrik. The chirping had been brutal, he’s told it always is with the Bruins, none of the others had seemed suprised at the homophobic language being thrown around the rink, and whilst Igor has had many years of practicing ignoring the homophobic slurs that are always thrown around the ice, and they sting less than they had when he was a teenager - it doesn’t mean they don’t sting at all. The game was brutal, the Bruins played harder than they did - the Rangers were exhausted and it showed.

Igor almost asks Marc why Henrik hasn’t come out with them, but then he stops himself, knowing he has no right to ask. Dinner is subdued, which is odd for them, they’re usually a rowdy bunch when they get together, regardless of a win or a loss, but the vets seem to be expecting something to happen, and the rookies are picking up on the tension. 

When dinner is finished, and the vets are playing credit card roulette, Marc stands - clearly it’s been decided that he won’t be paying this evening, and that’s what makes Igor realise that something has definitely been planned.

“Ok,” Marc’s voice is quiet and calm as always. “Lingo, Howdy, Foxy, Chyta,” he reels off, “You four are coming with me.” He hesitates, his eyes resting on Igor as he starts to walk out, but pauses behind Igor’s chair. “Come on Shesty,” he says, even softer. “He might not let you in, but I’m on your side with this one.”   
  


Igor doesn’t have a moment to ask on his side with what, before they are out and piling into a cab, clearly one that Marc had organised in advance with space enough for all of them.

They’re not in the cab for long until they pull up outside a modest one storey house. Igor can feel the skin prickling at the back of his neck and Marc clearly notices it, reaching out and putting a soft hand on his shoulder. “Stay with me, ok?”

He doesn’t respond, and the hand on his shoulder tightens, not enough to even leave a mark, but enough that he can feel his muscles shifting under Marc’s grip.

“I said stay with me,” Marc repeats, an edge of steel to his voice that isn’t usually there.

Igor nods, he’s not sure whether Marc means physically, or mentally, but he’s going to try and do both. They slip out of the cab, and up to the front door, where Marc lets them in with a key.

“Shoes off,” comes a familiar voice, and Henrik Lundqvist appears in one of the internal doorways, but not the Henrik that they are used to. They’re used to seeing him in his elegantly tailored suits, occasionally in jeans or chinos, or of course his hockey kit - instead, here he is, in a loose fitting pair of navy sweatpants, a grey hoodie zipped over a darker grey t-shirt. 

Igor feels like someone punched him, it’s like seeing your teacher or your coach in their pajamas. He glances up at Marc, hoping for some reassurance, but Marc is just grinning at his friend. “You missed a good dinner.”

Henrik shrugs. “More important things to do,” he says simply, and then, without missing a beat, “Howdy, Foxy, go into my bedroom, second door on the left, and bring the mattress through here into the living room.” The tone of his voice, the assumption that they will, of course, do exactly as he says, sends a bolt of pleasure down Igor’s spine. Similar instructions are given regarding the guest bedroom to Lingo and Chyta and, within seconds, it’s just Henrik, Igor and Marc stood there in the entrance. 

It takes a couple of strides until Henrik is standing in front of them, and then his hand is reaching up, softly brushing against Igor’s cheek, but it’s Marc he’s looking at, Marc he’s addressing. “I told you not to bring him.”

Marc shrugs, “I made an executive decision.”

“You went directly against my orders, don’t think that hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I’m happy to take the rap for this one.” Marc reaches up and runs a hand across Igor’s hair, and the young goaltender can’t help but feel his knees buckle with both of these men touching him. He grits his teeth and resolutely does not kneel, and the whimper he lets out is barely audible, so he chalks that up as a win.

Henrik however lets out a short sharp huff of laughter. “Still think he should be here?”

“Yes.” Marc stares him straight in the eye, it’s not something many of their teammates could do, especially not when Henrik is like this, but to Igor’s amazement, Marc manages it. “For both of you.”

Henrik nods, once, sharply, and takes half a step back, his hand falling down to his side. “Kitchen is that way,” he jerks his thumb towards a door. “I take my coffee black, you can make yourself whatever you want.”

“The others?” Igor is impressed at how much his voice doesn’t squeak when he asks.

Henrik shakes his head. “Just you and me,” he says, with a quiet smile.

Igor finds his way around the kitchen quickly, and puts a pot of coffee to brew; of course Lundqvist has nice coffee, he’s the kind of man to have nice everything. He lingers by the door, not spying exactly, just keeping half an eye on the brewing coffee and half an eye on the entrance hall where Marc is saying his good-bye to Henrik. The goaltender has the forward pushed up against the wall, despite being a few inches shorter than him and more than a few pounds lighter, he’s got his knee pressed in between Marc’s thighs and is whispering furiously in his ear. Igor has to strain to hear what he’s saying as he promises Marc, “Neither you nor your boy get to come tonight, understood?”

Marc swallows, and Igor can see his adam’s apple bob, “Of course not, Sir.” 

“Tell me why?”

“Because I disobeyed a direct order,” Marc’s not meeting his gaze, his voice is shaking. “Because I decided I knew better than you.”

Henrik growls, and it’s at that moment the coffee machine beeps to alert that it’s finished, and while Lundqvist hasn’t told him he can’t eavesdrop, he has told him to make coffee - Igor’s not going to let him down.

By the time he finishes making up the coffee, Marc has already left - Igor carries the two mugs through to the living room. Henrik has the other rookies organised, making the two mattresses into one large bed on the floor, all of the other furniture having been moved to the side. The bed is covered in pillows and bedding, there’s soccer playing on the TV, and a cooler of beers in the corner. Igor stands nervously in the doorway for a second, unsure what he is supposed to be doing, two cups of coffee in his hands. It’s only a moment, before Henrik notices him, and grins, coming over and taking the cup of proffered coffee, and then, hand on his shoulder, steers him towards an arm chair in the corner of the room. “Sit here. Drink your coffee.” Igor knew from the moment he walked in that he would be an outsider here, but he hadn’t realised quite how much it would sting.

Henrik on the other hand, throws himself down into the middle of the mattresses, leaning against his couch. “Clothing is entirely optional from this point,” he grins up at his rookies, before using his free hand to pat the bed beside him, “Cuddles totally are not.”

The four other rookies look at each other momentarily, before Howdy leads the way, stripping his t-shirt off and shimmying his jeans over his hips. “Might as well be comfy,” he grins, before grabbing a beer and plonking himself down next to Henrik, leaning into the older man’s body.

“Hi,” he grins at him, letting Lundqvist wrap an arm around his shoulder, he snuggles down into him.

Lingo is next, sitting on the other side, in just his boxers and t-shirt, he presses a soft kiss to Henrik’s cheek. “Hey.”

Henrik doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself from reaching out and brushing a soft thumb across the cut under Ryan’s eye. “Poor boy,” he says softly.

The other two settle in, perhaps a little nervous, but with beers in their hand and the appearance that Henrik has no desire to do anything other than sit and watch soccer with them, they settle down next to their teammates, and start to relax.

Igor on the other hand, has a different perspective, he has no interest in the soccer, he is watching Henrik and Henrik alone, so of course he notices when Henrik takes a deep swig of his coffee, and slides a hand onto Lingo’s thigh.

Lingo of course, notices instantly, and whimpers a little, barely audible, bucking up into the touch.

Henrik leans closer, and whispers in his ear, “Good boy,” and is rewarded with Lingo chewing on his bottom lip. “I need you to tell me what you want.” His voice is low, aimed just at Ryan, lips brushing against his jaw as he speaks.

Lindgren’s voice cracks as he answers, “Want to be closer.”

That gets a smile out of Henrik. “Good boy, come here.”

Igor watches, as Henrik puts his coffee cup far enough away that it won’t be knocked over, before pulling Lingo onto his lap, he can only imagine how it feels, he can see Lingo’s hard cock pressing against his undershorts, watches as he sits on Henrik’s lap, facing him, wonders if Henrik’s hard, if they can feel the delicious friction as their cocks line up with each other. He can’t tell what Henrik is saying, whispering into Lingo’s ear, can only imagine what it’s like for Lingo to have Henrik’s hand smoothing up and down his back, teasing at the hem of his t-shirt. Igor on the other hand, can only take a sip of his (admittedly very nice) coffee, watch, imagine, and want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click Here](https://www.menshealth.com/style/a19539798/shape-up-your-gym-style/) for henrik's outfit inspo. Cause everyone needs soft Henke in their life no?


	6. Chapter 4: Angel

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

Henrik can feel himself getting hard, with Lingo writhing gently on his lap, barely moving, lips pressing against Henrik’s neck where he has his head dipped so he can inhale the scent of him. He knows logically, he should have started with Howdy, he’s been with the Rangers longer, he’s more confident, and generally more mature, less easily spooked. Lindgren is the same age but has only been with them a year, on the other hand, he’s so damn eager to please - and right now what Henrik needs is someone who’s eager to please him.

He reaches down, and cups the younger man’s buttocks, gripping tightly, his mind whirring with possibilities - he’s studied all of the stupid tick sheets that Staalsy had had them do, he knows that there are limits to what he can do with this boy, number one being he can’t hurt him, but right now, with Lingo desperately trying to burrow into him, he doesn’t feel he wants to hurt him. 

“What do you want?” Henrik asks softly, lips against Lingo’s neck. “Tell me what you want.”

The younger man lets out a little whimper, hiding his face, before admitting in a low tone “Am I allowed kisses?”

Henrik lets out a huff of laughter, “You’ll have to earn them,” he says, carding his hand through the sandy blonde locks. “How about, I ask you some questions, and I’ll give you a kiss for every right answer you get.”

He can feel movement as Lingo giggles against him, but he also feels the boy nod tentatively.

Henrik already knows what the first question is, he feels a little guilty however, and he shoots a look across at Igor, tucked up into an armchair - he’s been staring at them, and Henrik meets his eye and flashes him a cheeky grin, before turning back to Ryan, “Who’s the best goalie in the Rangers.”

Lingo looks horrified for a moment, glancing nervously over at Igor, who shrugs at him, before hesitantly answering. “Er, you?”

Henrik nods. “Right answer,” he says, before lifting Lingo’s chin with two fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The soft whimper he gets in response makes his dick twitch, and a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Next question, who’s the best goalie in the league?”

Ryan laughs at this one,, “You,” he says, and Henrik feels smug for a moment that Ryan didn’t even pause to consider his brother.

This answer prompts a deeper kiss, followed by, “And the best goalie in the world?”

By this point, the others have sensed the pattern in the questions, and are giggling and rolling their eyes, but Lingo still answers, “Obviously you.”

Henrik gives a little smirk. “Good,” he says softly and, using a gentle grip on Ryan’s hair, tips his head back to kiss him properly, thrusting his tongue into the young defenseman’s pliant mouth.

Henke feels himself hesitate before the next question comes out - he has to remind himself that this is not about the rookies, this is about him, and part of his nesting involves showing the rookies who he really is. Part of the reason they haven’t been clicking as a team is because he doesn’t feel like they’re his team, because they barely know him – so he needs to show them, and hope they still want to be part of his team, knowing everything that goes on inside his head, knowing everything he wants and feels.

“Four As on the Rangers,” he murmurs to Lingo, his voice quiet. “No Captain – because we all know who the captain really is, don’t we?”

Ryan blinks at him for a moment, before his eyes widen in amazement. “It’s you,” he says softly.

“Fuck,” Howdy speaks up from beside him. “It really is.”

Lundqvist shrugs. “None of them will take the C while I’m on the team, but goalies can’t be captains.”

Brett grins at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re totally our Captain, don’t need a letter on your jersey to show us that.”

Henrik smiles softly at him, before turning his attention back to Ryan, grabbing his buttocks and pulling him closer, before pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. “You’re so sweet,” he whispers.

Lingo blushes at that, burying his head in Hank’s shoulder. “I try to be good,” he mutters.

“You are good,” Henrik answers. “Positively angelic.” He tangles his hand in the hair at the base of Lingo’s skull, tipping his head up to meet his eyes, “But I’d like you to look at me.” He loosens his grip, but Ryan, true to form, does as he’s told, meeting the older man’s eyes even as it’s uncomfortable. 

“Whose team are you on?” Henrik asks softly.

“Yours.” Lindgren grins at him, he knows the answer every time, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy his reward.

“Thank you, Angel,” Henrik grins back and this time the kiss is soft, gentle, still there’s no way that Henrik isn’t in control and Ryan melts into him his breath hitching in his throat no matter how soft the kiss is. Lingo’s panting when Henrik pulls away from him.

“Who do you belong to?” Henrik asks him, voice low, a tremor to it that wasn’t there before.

“You,” Ryan smiles softly at him.

“Take your shirt off, Angel,” Henrik orders him, tugging at the t-shirt, the pet name slipping easily from his lips. It’s always been one of his quirks, giving his favourite teammates pet names. It started with Mats, who has always been Babycakes, occasionally shortened to just ‘Baby’, Marc is Buttercup, Buch has always been Petal, and that one tends to throw the rookies, Jesper is Duckie, and it seems like Lindgren has become Angel.

Lingo has pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it into the corner of the couch, burying himself back into Henrik’s arms.

Henrik reaches up and with a soft hand, strokes the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “Can I mark you, Angel?”

Ryan lets out a little whimper and nods. “Please,” he says softly.

Henrik grins, and leans forward, latching his teeth onto the muscle. With every scrape of his teeth, every suck and lick, he can feel the young defenseman shift in his lap, rubbing their erections together. It’s fucking heady, and it’s exactly what he needs. He takes longer than strictly necessary, he knows that this mark will be damn near a bruise by the time he’s finished, but God is he enjoying himself.

“Please,” Lindgren whimpers softly, wriggling his hand in between them. “I need to….”

Henrik unlatches his teeth from around Ryan’s trapezius. “Of course Angel,” he whispers into his neck. “Get yourself off for me.” The feeling of Ryan’s hand juddering up and down between them, so close that Henrik can feel his knuckles rubbing against his own cock, is nothing short of electric. He presses kisses, teeth marks into the younger man’s torso, digs his nails into his buttocks, drinking in the whimpers that Lingo is breathing into his skin. It’s heady, and he can feel himself slipping into the headspace he needs with this whimpering, squirming just turned twenty-two-year-old in his lap, this gorgeous young man who would give him anything he wanted. He kisses Ryan again, thrusting his tongue into the younger man’s mouth and feeling him shudder as he comes between them.

##  _  
__Igor’s POV_ _  
  
_

Igor’s coffee has gone cold, what little is left of it. He can smell it as Lindgren comes and there’s nothing he wants more than to get down on his knees and beg to taste. He hasn’t gotten laid since he was called up from Hartford, hasn’t gone down in just as long. He can’t tell anymore which he needs more, his cock is throbbing with needs, but more than that he wants Henrik to put him on his knees and tell him what a good girl he is. Instead, he’s stuck, watching Lindgren get everything he’s wanted since he became a Ranger, everything he’s thought about since the first moment he laid eyes on Henrik Lundqvist, since the first moment he realised the casual power that the man exudes, the way he throws even Marc, taller and stronger than him, around.

He knows Henrik is an experienced kinkster, the language he uses, the way he is with Marc, all screams someone who knows how to scene properly. He’s dropped enough hints in the time he’s been in New York that he’s a sub, it would be impossible for Henrik not to know, and yet, here he is, sat in the corner, resigned to simply watch.

  
  


##  _ Henrik’s POV _

As Ryan comes down from his orgasm, he looks up to Henrik, eyes unfocused, but he’s staring at the older man’s face, even with his eyes as glazed over as they look. “Can I ask you a question now?”

Henrik chuckles softly, “Angel, you can ask anything.”

Lindgren glances over towards Igor, and then back at Henrik. “Why is Shesty here?”

Henrik lets out a soft chuckle, refusing to look up at his fellow goal tender. He shrugs and, remembering that he’s trying to be honest, answers, “Because he’s my favourite.” He finally lets his eyes flicker over towards Igor, who isn’t trying to hide his smile at that statement.

It’s Foxy who lets out a laugh at that one, “We know that, but why is he over there, and not here?”

Lundqvist shakes his head at that. “It’s complicated,” is his only answer.

##  _Igor’s POV_ __  
  


Igor can feel the word thrumming through his veins, любимец.


	7. Chapter 5: Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the updated tags please people

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

For a moment, there’s nothing but quiet. Lindgren has slid off of Henrik’s lap and is curled in beside him, still and quiet. That doesn’t mean that Henrik is still and quiet however, and while he’s got one hand smoothing down Ryan’s back, the other hand is playing with the hair at the base of Howdy’s skull, tugging lightly.

“Is it my turn to answer questions now?” Howdy asks, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Henrik snorts. “No,” he says simply, before following it up with, “You’re going to suck my cock.”

There’s a moment of hesitation in the room, as if all of the rookies are holding their breath. The statement was uttered with surety, as if there was no possibility that Howden would refuse. Brett looks at him for a moment, as if considering, and then nods. “Ok.” He shimmies down, laying on the mattress between Henrik’s legs.

“Good job,” Henrik grins and runs a hand through his hair, before reaching down to slide his sweatpants down – clearly wearing nothing underneath them. He throws them over to Shestyorkin. “Fold these.”

Igor jumps on the instruction like it’s a life buoy and he’s a drowning man. Never has a pair of sweatpants been more neatly folded.

Howdy moves to wrap his lips around Henrik’s dick, only to find the older man’s hands tightly fisted in his hair. “Not yet,” Henrik instructs him.

At Howds’ raised eyebrow, Henrik grins, “We do this my way. Yes?”

Brett nods softly, before waiting on his first instruction.

“Lick your lips.” It’s simple, he can do that, and Henrik watches as it turns his lips pink and shiny, “Open your mouth, but only a little.” Henrik uses his hands to guide Brett’s face towards his cock. “If I feel your teeth, I will hurt you.” His voice is soft, but there’s venom underneath it.

Howdy nods, and then lets Henrik guide him, rubbing the tip of his cock against his soft mouth, pushing it past his barely open lips, forcing his way into Brett’s mouth.

“Good,” Henrik crows softly, “Very good.” Once the head of his cock is inside Brett’s mouth, he leaves it there for a moment, before adding the instruction, “Now suck, gently.”

Howden sucks softly, clearly letting himself get accustomed to the taste, before taking Henrik’s cock further into his mouth, until it brushes against the back of his throat. At that, he feels Henke’s grip on his hair tighten, pulling him back off.

“Did I tell you to do that?” Henrik glares down at the younger man.

Howdy shakes his head.

“If I want you to choke on my dick, I will make you choke on my dick.” Henrik rolls his eyes, “So let’s try again.” His hand reaches up to stroke Howdy’s cheek softly, “Now lick your lips.” He tries not to look too exasperated, but really how hard is it, all the boy has to do is what Henrik tells him and only what Henrik tells him.

This time, Howdy is better behaved, he lets Henrik thrust his cock into his mouth, keeping his lips tight enough together that the older man will be able to feel the resistance. Once the head of Henrik’s cock is lying heavy on his tongue he puts his effort into sucking, and hard.

“Much better.” Henrik’s hands are smoothing through Howdy’s hair. For a moment, he lets himself relax into the sensation, his eyelids flutter half shut, still watching Brett sucking obediently on his dick, it feels good, having this young forward obeying his every whim. It makes him weak, and so he forces his eyes open, and lets himself do what he’s been wanting to, glancing over to where Igor is sat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He locks eyes with his fellow goalie, and the desperation he sees in his eyes drives him even closer towards the edge. 

“Use your hand.” He turns his attention back to Brett, watching as he wraps his hand around the base of Henrik’s cock. “Good, very good.” His mind flickers over the checklists, remembering in particular the item, that whilst Howdy had ticked ‘yes’ to, Shesty had ticked yes, and then surrounded the word in hearts, and written what google translate informs him means ‘please’ underneath.

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” Henrik keeps his voice low, he’s talking only to Howdy now. “And you’re not going to swallow it, you’re going to keep it there. Yes?”

Brett hums his assent, still focusing on sucking as hard as he can, his jaw must be aching by now, he’s clearly working hard to impress Henrik. He starts working his hand harder, Henrik, like most of the Europeans in the league, is uncut, and it’s easy enough for Howdy to build up speed without too much friction.

It doesn’t take long until Henrik can feel himself tightening, his release imminent. “Ready honey?” His voice is lower than usual, but without even a hint of how he’s on the verge of orgasm - still steady and in control.

Brett hums again, and that’s all the consent Henrik needs to let himself go, coming into the younger man’s mouth. He stills for a moment as he does, hands carding through Howdy’s hair.

“Good job honey,” he says softly, watching as Brett obediently sits there, come pooling in his mouth.

He glances over to where Igor is sat, naked desire evident on his face, and then leans down to whisper in Howden’s ear, “Go and give Shesty a kiss.”

He follows behind as the younger man stands and gracefully stalks over to where the young Russian is sat. As they get closer, he can see where Igor’s erection is tenting in his slacks, the damp spot at the tip where he’s leaked precum through his underwear and his pants. He licks his lips in anticipation and then, with a hand on Howden’s shoulder, steers him forwards.

He watches, as Howdy leans forward, tucking a hand underneath Igor’s chin and drawing him in for the kiss. He’d wondered what Igor would be like, whether his kisses would be sweet and submissive, so he’s startled, and perhaps a little bit amused when his fellow net minder reaches up and grabs onto Howdy’s hair with both hands, thrusting his tongue into his mouth like his life depends on it. It’s messy, and Henrik’s come is leaking between them, spilling down over their chins, dripping onto Brett’s bare chest. Igor’s still fully clothed, but he’s pressed up against every inch of Howdy’s almost naked form as if he wants to crawl inside his skin.

“Fuck Shesty,” Brett breathes, pulling back, the erection that had started when he was blowing Henrik now clearly visible in his shorts. His eyes, like Henrik’s however, are on Igor, as he wipes the come off his chin with the back of his hand, and then, glancing at Henrik through his eyelashes, laps it up with his tongue.

Embarrassingly, it takes Henrik a moment to realise the low guttural moan he’s just heard has come from himself. He shuts his mouth abruptly, still unable to tear his gaze from Igor.

“Fuck,” Brett grins up at the older man. “Didn’t make noises like that when I was blowing you.”

Henrik has the decency to look a little abashed, “Igor’s special,” he says, threading his hand through his rookie’s hair, using the pad of his thumb on his other hand to swipe a droplet of come that Shestyorkin had missed, before pushing his thumb between the young goalie’s lips and watching, heart stuttering as he moans around it, sucking like Henrik’s come is the elixir of life.

“Do you want to blow Brett?” Henrik asks.

“ Пожалуйста ,” Igor answers, and then, when Henrik prompts him to speak English, “Please.”

“That be OK, honey?” Henrik grins at Howdy like he’d ever say no to that. “If Igor shows you how it’s really done.”

That makes Shesty light up, that gorgeous bright smile that has everyone in the locker room fawning over him when he isn’t looking.

“On your knees then,” Henrik orders, and while Igor is sinking to the carpet in front of Howds, Henrik is reaching over to the sofa, grabbing a condom and pressing it into Brett’s hands. “You’ll want this,” he says, before looking down at Igor on his knees. “I’ve heard how they treated him down in Hartford, fuck knows where that mouth has been.”

Brett stills for a moment, and Henrik wonders for a moment if he’d gone too far - he knows that Igor has no problem with the humiliation, the shame that comes from Henrik insinuating that he’s riddled with STDs, but for the others to witness it is another matter.

Igor’s reaction seems to calm Brett however, as the younger goalie flushes and whimpers a little, biting his lip through his arousal.

Obediently, Brett takes out the condom, sliding it onto his now very hard cock. He stares down in amazement as Igor grabs onto his hips, and guides his cock towards his mouth.

Henrik’s stands behind the young forward. “Put your hands on his head,” he says softly. “He’ll love it if you fuck his face.”

The answering whimper from Igor as Howdy’s cock slips into his mouth lets Henrik know that he’s not wrong, he watches as Brett’s cock slips further and further into Igor’s mouth until he hears the forward swear.

“Fuck Igor,” Brett breathes. “Where the fuck is your gag reflex?”

Igor pulls off and grins up at him, blushing at the unintentional praise. “I not choke.” He grins. “You will be rough.”

And fuck if that isn’t all the encouragement Howdy needs, sliding his dick between Shesty’s beautiful pink lips, fucking as far back into his throat as he can, looking like me meets no resistance. It’s a fucking sight to behold, that beautiful Russian, on his knees, taking everything that Brett’s giving him, whimpering and pulling Brett towards him like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It’s over embarrassingly quickly, but Henrik doesn’t think anyone is going to chirp Howdy about it, not when it’s so clear that Igor knows exactly what he’s doing.

Brett comes with a shout, leaning forward, his legs clearly unsteady, but Igor just pulls off, carefully slides the condom off and knots it, walking over and depositing it in the bin before Howdy’s fully come back around.

“I was good?” Igor may have just blown Howden to heaven and back, but his attention is focused 100% on Lundqvist.

“You did good kid.”

Igor whimpers, and falls to his knees again. “Please,” is all he utters, looking up at Henrik through his eyelashes.

“You want to come do you gorgeous girl?” Henrik almost says boy, but catches himself just in time.

“Please.” Igor has tears brimming in his eyes. “Please Henrik.”

“No.” Henrik’s voice is cold as steel, and the cry that comes out of Igor’s mouth is like he’s been hit. At the look of despair on the young netminder’s face, Henrik relents a little, “When everyone else in this room has come, then you may.”

Igor nods, and then, knowing well enough what is expected of him, slides back into his arm chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaas, I know... POOR IGOR.  
> Also, America: your obsession with MGM/circumcision is weird. Like... quit it.


	8. Chapter 6: Pixie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BRAT TIME

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

“Does that mean I get to come next,” Foxy grins at Henrik as the older man sits down beside him. “Because honestly, I’ve got a bunch of ideas of what I can do to you.”

That startles a laugh out of Henrik. “Do you?” he says, amusement written across his face. “And what if they don’t coincide with what I want to do to you.”

“That’s not your game though is it.” Adam is calling his bluff. “You want us all to feel special.”

“I want you to do what I tell you,” Henrik answers, the amusement still evident in his voice.

“Eh,” Foxy shrugs. “You can try.”

And that, that was all the challenge Henrik needed, in an instant, he has one hand on the back of Foxy’s neck, the other one reaching out to grab his thigh. He pulls in one swift movement; he has a couple of inches in height on the younger man, and years in experience, and in that one smooth movement, Foxy finds himself sprawled across Henrik’s lap, both of Lundqvist’s hands pressing down on him to hold him where he lay.

“Oh,” he turns to glare at the goalie. “Think you’re man enough to spank me, do you?”

Henrik laughs his easy laugh. “You’re an irritating little minx, no?” He reaches down to tug Foxy’s briefs over his ass and, as he releases his grip on the defenseman to do it, Adam tries to squirm away. With a sigh, Henrik reaches out and grabs a handful of his hair, yanking him roughly upwards so they are face to face. “You can behave nicely, or I will get your buddies here to hold you down for me.”

Foxy wrinkles his nose, “They wouldn’t.”

At that, Henrik lets out a short sharp burst of laughter, “Pixie, I’m pretty sure if I asked him right now Igor would shoot you.”

There’s a moment of silence, and they all turn to look at Shesty.

The young goalie simply shrugs. “I not have gun in America,” he says quietly in reply.

That earns him a grin from Henrik, who then uses his tight grip on Foxy’s hair to force him back into position over his lap.

“You have to tell me how many I’m going to get.” Foxy squirms as Henrik tugs his boxers down, exposing his ass to the cool air.

“No I don’t,” Henrik grins. “My house, my rules,” and with that, he gives Foxy a resounding slap to the buttocks. It leaves a beautiful red handprint, and Henke can’t help but reach out to smooth a hand over it. “Keep still,” he says as the young defenseman squirms in his lap.

He knows he’s allowed to do this, knows that Foxy has consented to this, but there’s still something deliciously illicit about the thrum of bare skin under the palm of his hand as he slaps. He’s almost disappointed when he feels Fox start to rub against him, pressing his erection against him - it’s not that he doesn’t want the rookies to be enjoying themselves this evening, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he enjoyed spanking more when the other person didn’t. He likes that his boys in the locker room take their punishment not because they get off on it, but because they feel they owe it to him, because he has decided, and they do what he says. Still, Adam squirming in his lap just gives him an excuse to hit harder and hold him down with a little more force.

He almost loses himself in it, but then he feels a quiet cry of “Wait!” and his hand stills in the air, looking down at Fox.

“You ok?” he asks quietly, the others are watching him, but right now he only has eyes for the young man sprawled across him.

“Just…” Foxy’s breathing is getting harsh, he blushes slightly as he admits, “getting a bit much.”

There’s a small quirk to Henrik’s lips, and then he asks softly, “Does that mean you’ll be good for me now?” He wants Foxy to say no, he wants him to fight a little longer, but he knows deep down that he won’t.

“I might be.” There’s a pout to his voice as Foxy replies.

“Such a brat,” Henrik’s smiling. “Come up here then Pixie,” he says softly, pulling him into his lap and delighting at the wince as he shifts. “If you’d behaved from the start you might not be hurting right now.”

“I figured you were going to spank one of us, and it should probably have been me,” Foxy teases him.

Henrik runs a finger down the line of his throat, “Because you think Igor wouldn’t have begged me for it.” He doesn’t risk a glance over towards his fellow goalie, knowing how on edge he is right now. “Or maybe,” he glances down to where Foxy’s cock is pressing against the front of his boxers, “You did enjoy that.”

“Hated it,” Foxy blushes. “Worst thing ever,” but even as he speaks, he cants his hips forwards, desperate to get some friction.

Lundqvist laughs, and without any warning, leans forwards and latches he teeth into the rookie’s neck, sucking and biting hard, without any care as to whether it will be visible under the neckline of his shirts. He reaches between them and grabs Adam’s cock in his hand, it’s rough, there’s lube on the sofa behind him that he could choose to use if he wanted to - he doesn’t - he wants this to hurt him.

He revels in the soft sounds, pain mixed with pleasure breaking through the whimpers as he whispers softly in the young defenseman’s ear, “Good boy, see you can be good for me, can’t you?”

It’s not really a question, but it has Adam nodding feverently, biting his bottom lip. “Please,” he begs softly.

Henrik laughs at him. “Please what little Pixie?” He uses the hand not wrapped around Foxy’s cock to brush Adam’s hair out of his eyes, he’s sweating so much his usually perfect hair is plastered to his forehead.

“Not enough,” Foxy moans.

Henrik shrugs - and stops.

“No no no no no,” Adam throws his arms dramatically around the older man’s neck. “I’m sorry Hank.” He buries his face against Henrik’s neck. “Please,” he whispers.

“You get what I give you,” Henrik says sternly. “And if you want more, then you beg for it. You don’t ask, you don’t tell, you beg.”

Foxy nods. “Sorry Sir,” he says, every inch of his bratty behaviour from earlier disappeared. “Please Sir, please will you touch me.”

Henrik nods, and reaches for his dick again, ignoring Foxy’s whimper at the sensitive unlubricated skin - if he wants it slicker, he’s going to have to beg for it.

It only takes a few seconds before he does, “Please Sir, please can I have some lube.”

Henrik grins at that. “See,” he says, reaching behind himself for the bottle of lube. “You can learn.”

It only takes a few well lubricated strokes before Foxy is coming over Henrik’s now bare torso, whimpering as he does. Henke looks down at himself, and then glances over towards Igor. “Warm washcloth from the bathroom, Igor,” he says, tone dispassionate, leaving no room for Igor to disobey.

True to form, Igor returns with a perfect temperature wash cloth that he’d found in the bathroom - Henrik knows he should set himself some boundaries with the younger net minder, but he’s come-drunk and feeling the high of all of his teammates under his power. So he doesn’t reach out for the wash cloth, instead, pushing Foxy gently off his lap, he gestures down to himself.

Igor kneels down gingerly between his spread legs and tenderly cleans Foxy’s come off his chest. 

Henrik reaches out and brushes his thumb along Igor’s cheekbone, causing the younger goalie to whimper. “Good girl,” he says with a smirk.

Igor simply nods, and, job done, stands again, going meekly back to his chair in the corner. Henrik watches him go, and in that moment he realises quite how much he wants the younger man, and not just in a carnal physical way, he wants Igor for more than that - he wants him in every part of his life.


	9. Chapter 7: Squeaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay of game on this chapter, I'd give myself a delay of game penalty... but then I couldn't update as fast, so consider this me, carter harting my way out of a penalty :D

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

There’s a brief pause in the room, a moment of silence - and then Henrik lets his eyes flicker over towards Chyta. It’s calculated, and quick, but it’s noticed by all. He’s done this deliberately, and the waves of uncertain fear he feels coming of Fil make it all worth it. He glances again and, without a word, beckons.

Chytil swallows audibly, and crawls over to where Henrik is sat, nervously kneeling in front of him.

Henrik can see his pulse thrumming in his neck, the younger man is refusing to meet his gaze and Henke can taste the tension in the air. He pretends to think for a moment, like he hasn’t had this planned out since before they even arrived. “What should I do with you Fil?” He tucks two fingers under Chyta’s chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes.

Filip squeaks in surprise at the contact and tries to pull away a little.

Henrik laughs softly. “Come closer,” he says, laughter in his voice despite the order. He thinks about adding ‘I don’t bite’ but, well, it’s a blatant lie.

Chyta shuffles a mere half an inch closer, and forces himself to look at Henrik for half a second, before his nerves get the better of him and he looks away again.

“What do we think I should do with him boys?” Henrik asks to the room in general, like he cares about their opinion. “Should I spank him?” He enjoys the seeing the fear flash across Fil’s face as he suggests it, and he slides a hand down to caress the younger man’s neck. “Or maybe I could choke him into unconsciousness…” 

Another squeak of fear passes Fil’s lips.

“It’s ok,” Henke reaches out to pull him closer, one hand on the back of his neck. “I know what I have planned for you.”

“Sir?” 

Henrik can’t help the grin that breaks across his face at that question. “What a good boy.” He grins, stroking Chyta’s cheek softly, he draws him even closer, until their foreheads rest against each other. “I’m not going to hurt you Fil,” he says with a soft smile.

Filip nods, biting on his lower lip as he waits patiently to hear what Henke has planned for him.

The goaltender smiles at him. “I’m going to suck your cock,” he says, confident grin plastered across his face.

Chytil’s eyes widen in shock.

“Surprised?” Henrik laughs, manhandling Chyta so he’s sat leaning against the couch.

“A little,” Fil confesses, blush staining his cheeks. Still, he obediently lifts his hips as Henke slides his briefs down, exposing his half hard cock. He squeaks again in shock as, with no further warning, Henke swallows his cock down to the base.

Henrik pulls off with a pop and a laugh. “I like all those squeaks,” he looks up at Chytil with a grin.

Fil’s blush deepens and then, as Henrik starts sucking again, he moans and curls his fingertips into the mattress beneath him.

Without breaking his stride, Henke shifts his own hands so he’s gripping Chyta’s wrists, pinning him down as he slides his mouth up and down the young centre’s cock. He might not have Igor’s lack of gag reflex, but Henke has 20 years of experience sucking dick, and he enjoys the power it gives him. He knows some people would say that giving head isn’t a particularly dominant thing to do, but he finds having the most sensitive part of someone’s anatomy vulnerable between his teeth gives him a heady sort of power. He alternates between his finely honed technique, and occasional flashes of his teeth, just enough of a hint that he could seriously hurt Fil if he really wanted to - and of course, the squeaks that come out of Chytil’s mouth every time he does just encourages him to do it more frequently.

Even with those moments of pain, it’s not long before Fil is squirming and writing underneath him. “Please,” he stammers out. “Please Sir, Henrik.”

Henke smiles around the young rookie’s cock, the very thought that Chytil is asking just for permission to come makes his spent dick twitch in his pants. He pulls off, and looks up at the young boy, pushing his own hair out of his eyes. “Not yet, Squeaks.”

Fil whimpers and lets his head fall back against the sofa, fingers curling in the sheet on the mattress beneath him.

Henrik grins, and returns his mouth to Fil’s cock, careful not to push him too far, not to spend too long doing any one thing in particular. He takes the head in his mouth, sucking softly and risks running his blunt fingernails up the shaft, Chyta whimpers and squeaks again as he does, and Henrik has to force himself not to smile. Instead, he switches and presses soft licks and kisses to the points where his nails had been, using his hand to cup Chytil’s balls, rolling them about in his palm.

“Please Henrik,” Chyta gasps. “I need.”

Henrik pulls away, and blows cool air across the head of Fil’s cock. “Careful, Squeaks,” he says, still not letting go of his teammate’s balls.

“I need it.” Chyta is squirming under him, struggling to keep his hips still, desperately seeking some form of release. 

Henrik merely laughs at him, and reaches out with his tongue to swipe the precum that’s beading on the tip of his cock. He relents a little, wrapping his fingers tight around the base of Fil’s cock, making it harder for him to come at least. He chuckles at Fil’s little squeak of surprise, and then in one smooth movement engulfs as much of his cock as he can in his mouth. He sucks hard, relentlessly, building up a good rhythm until Filip is a begging squirming mess beneath him.

“Please Henrik, please, please Henke, please.” It’s like the only words he can remember are please and Henrik’s name.

Eventually, Henrik looks up at him, not moving his mouth away at all, but making eye contact, and giving half a nod, he relaxes his fingers, sucking hard until with a swear that Henrik can’t translate Chytil is coming down the back of his throat.

Henrik’s first thought, when he’s finished swallowing the come that poured out of Fil’s cock, is Igor. He knows he should have his attention focused on Chyta, but his mind wanders to Igor instantly. He forces himself to stay, tuck Fil’s cock back inside his boxers, stroking his cheek and taking in his come drunk expression.

“Ok?” he asks him.

Fil nods, not able to formulate the words in English.

Henke can’t wait longer, so he stands, and goes to where Igor is sat, glassy eyed, where he’d left him. “Igor?” he asks softly, a gentle hand on the young goalie’s hair.

Igor whimpers in response. “Please,” he says, all other words are gone. “Please.”

“You’ve been so good.” Henrik kneels down in front of him, so they can talk without the others hearing. “Can you be good a little longer for me?”

Igor nods. Right now he looks like he’d do anything for Henrik. Anything. It’s simultaneously incredibly arousing and terrifying all at the same time. 

“Can you come without a hand on your dick?” Henrik asks. “Just your ass?”

Igor blushes, and nods. “Dah.”

Henrik nods, thoughtfully, “I want you to, but…” he pauses, biting his lip, hating himself for this admission. “I don’t want any of the others to see you do it.”

Igor grins at that. “Is yes,” he answers, nonsensically.

“Good.” Henrik presses a bottle of lube into his hand. “Go to the bathroom, bring yourself off however you want, but don’t touch your dick.”

Igor nods, stands, and then pauses, clearly realising the hidden implication under what Henrik had said. “Not also you,” he says sadly.

Henrik feels a twinge in his chest, he feels guilty, but the others need him more at this point. “You’re my good girl,” he catches Igor by the side of his neck and presses their foreheads together. “I know you’ll be good for me even when I’m not watching you.”

Igor nods again, and then with a smirk. “I think of you,” he promises.

“You’d fucking better.”


	10. Chapter 8: Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS... I AM THE MOST SORRY. Real life shit happened and was really shitty. But this is here.... Sorry :/

##  _ Henrik’s POV _

Henrik watches the clock as the boys around him slip into unconsciousness – they’ve taken him sending Igor away as the tacit approval that it was time for them to fall asleep. He’s not surprised that Lingo was the first to pass out – he resists the urge to reach over and jab at the ugly cut under his eye, and instead watches as the poor exhausted rookie sprawls out on the mattress. 

Chyta is curled into Henrik’s side, not quite asleep, but making happy sounds as Henrik runs his hand through his hair. By the time 15 minutes have passed, only Howdy is still awake out of the three of them. Given how on edge Igor was, Henrik thinks he should have come in 15 minutes, but he doesn’t want to interrupt him, and he had been quite insistent about how Igor should go about it, so he decides to leave it a few minutes longer.

Henrik doesn’t quite make it to half an hour before he feels he needs to go and check on him – as he wriggles out of Fil’s grasp, he notices Brett lift a sleepy head. “Just going to check on Shesty,” he says softly. “Go back to sleep.”

When Henrik leaves the living room, he notices the kitchen light is on and, when he sticks his head through the door, he sees Igor sat at his breakfast bar, hugging a mug of tea. Henrik instantly feels the tug of guilt building within his ribcage, worrying that he’d pushed him too far.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer.

Igor smiles up at him and pushes a second mug, one Henrik hadn’t noticed before, towards him. “I make you tea.”

“Thank you.”

“I think we debrief now.” Igor smiles up at him, and it’s not his usual smile, it’s tired, and perhaps a little cynical.

Henrik can’t mask his surprise. “How do you know that word?” He means how do you know the English for that word, how do you know to use it now, but he assumes Igor knows what he means.

“Is first thing do, come to America, find club for scene.” Igor shrugs unashamedly. “Am needing it.”

Henrik nods, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. “I had no idea,” he confesses.

That startles a laugh out of Igor. “You see me, and you not think I sub?”

“Lots of guys your age don’t even know they need it yet, let alone where to find it,” Henrik defends himself. “I supposed I should have expected more from you.”

Igor grins at him, and for a moment, they sit there in comfortable silence.

Henke decides he needs to start this debrief, since Igor had all but asked for it. “Best bits then?” he asks, before clarifying, lest the idiom be misunderstood. “What did you like the most?”

Igor grins at him. “Shame,” he answers instantly. “I like you shame me.” He pauses to think for a moment, and then, red colouring the tips of his ears, adds, “I like you say favourite.” The blush spreads further as he admits further, “I like very much.” As he gets more embarrassed, he finds himself unable to meet Henrik’s gaze, “I like… You think me, with them.”

Henrik finds himself having to add in the missing words before he can understand. “You liked me thinking about you when I was playing with the others?” he asks with a smirk. “Because I never stopped thinking of you, not for one second.” He reaches out, and brushes his thumb across Igor’s knuckles, delighting in the way the younger man shudders at even the slightest touch. “And the worst bits?” he forces himself to ask, not letting go of Igor’s hand.

“Is…” Igor’s face falls. “I not like you not want me.”

Henrik feels like someone’s punched him, and he groans a little with the impact of it. “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he reassures his young colleague. “I really, really want you.”

Igor frowns, “You not touch me.”

It’s that which makes Henrik realise that he needs to explain himself fully to Igor, it seems like the young goaltender knows more about the scene world than Henrik had given him credit for. “I want you, I just don’t trust you,” he explains, going on before Igor can interrupt him. “I don’t trust that you won’t just do exactly what I say, I don’t trust you to safeword if you need to, to stop me if I go to far.”

Igor appears to take it on board for a minute. “You think you say jump off cliff and I do.”

It’s accurate, and Henrik can only bring himself to nod, he doesn’t trust himself with Igor, not with the inherent power imbalance stemming from the fact that he’s supposed to be Igor’s mentor, and on top of that, he doesn’t trust Igor, doesn’t trust him to stop him, not in the way a more experienced sub might - but perhaps he’d been underestimating him

“I show you,” Igor grins at him, bright and confident. “Make kneel me.”

Henrik shakes his head in amusement – Igor’s English isn’t good at the best of times. “Kneel for me Igor,” he says quietly.

“No,” Igor shrugs.

Henrik can see how this game is going to go. He lets his voice drop, his tone serious. “Kneel for me.”

That elicits a cheeky grin from Igor, “Not today.”

Taking it up a notch, Henrik stands from the bar stool, using the fact Igor is still sat down to tower over him. “I said kneel.”

Igor doesn’t quite laugh at him, but it’s close.

Building on the tension, Henrik reaches out and grabs Igor around the wrist, preparing to pull him to his feet, but he’s interrupted.

“Stop.”

Henrik pulls his hand back like he’s been burnt.

“I not say you touch me.” Igor’s staring solemnly at him.

Henrik can’t help but feel guilty, but Igor stands from the chair, and without a word, sinks, unasked, to his knees at Henrik’s feet.

“Is gift.” The younger man stares up at him. “Submit is gift.”

Henrik nods, the urge to run his fingers through Igor’s hair is strong, but he’s not checked, so he won’t, he tucks his hands behind his back.

“I give gift,” Igor grins up at him. “I take gift back. Yes?”

Henrik feels like a weight is being lifted from him. “I’m going to touch you now,” he warns – he’s not asking permission, but he’s giving Igor time to refuse.

Igor nods, and as Henrik’s hand slips into his hair, he leans forward and presses his forehead into the older man’s thigh – he slips under like a dream and for a moment it’s perfect, the two of them, quiet and still.

Henrik doesn’t keep him down for long however, he waits just until he notices Igor’s breathing start to deepen before he places a gentle pair of fingers under his chin, tugging upwards slightly - not forcing him, not even an order, just a quiet unspoken request.

Igor stands again, pulling himself away from Henrik to sit back in his seat. “I like you,” he says boldly, staring Henrik in the eye. “I want this.”

Henrik can’t let himself fall into this yet. “You don’t even know what I want.”

Igor just shrugs, “What you give, I want.”

“I want a lot, Igor.” Henrik shakes his head, mostly at himself. “I want too much.”

“More than be you sub?”

Henrik nods, definitely more than that.

“More than be only you sub?”

Again, a nod, disappointment at himself, almost ashamed that he wants so much from this young man who owes him nothing.

Igor thinks for a moment, “You want boyfriend?”

Henrik growls a little, “Igor, I want to own you.”

Igor grins at him, utterly unashamed. “Is good. I like this.”

Henrik can’t help but feel his eyes widen. “Are you…” he can’t even bring himself to ask the question.

“Is good,” Igor reassures him, reaching out to hold his hand. “We sort…” he pauses, thinks, “Papers, details.” He gives Henrik an appraising look, “And you not stop me play hockey.”

“Never.” Henke smiles at him, and then, a little softer, “Never.”

Igor gives his easy shrug again. “Then is good.”

“Tomorrow,” Henrik decides. “Tomorrow we can sort contracts.”

“Dah,” Igor looks like he’s trying to file the word away, so he can use it again in the future. “Contracts.”

Henrik glances at his watch, “But I think we should get some sleep now.”

“Not yet.” Igor grins at him. “I want gift.”

Henrik frowns a little. “A gift?” he asks curiously.

“Dah.” The younger man grins at him. “All others have names now, Angel, Pixie,” he waves his hand. “I want name.”

At that, Henrik lets out a little chuckle, he’d known what Igor’s pet name would be since they first showed him the photograph of the young KHL goalie they’d signed to replace him one day. “Princess,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke his thumb over Igor’s cheekbone, “You’ve always been Princess.”

Igor grins, and then, looking at Henrik with lidded eyes, “I princess, you king, dah?” He grins a filthy smirk, “This mean I call you Papa.”

That draws a groan from Henrik and he steps back, trying desperately to control himself when he wants nothing more than to surge forward and press himself against Igor. “Behave,” is all he says in the end, and then, “And it’s bedtime.”

He leads Igor back to the living room; the boys have obediently left a space for him in the middle, but as he stares down at them, he finally realises why he hasn’t been feeling his place in the team. He knows about nesting, he knows a goalie really starts to nest when they need to feel part of their team, feel their team around them, feel that their team has them. Henrik’s boys have had his back for years, but these boys, these new boys, they aren’t really part of his team, and they won’t ever be – because the Rangers aren’t his team anymore. The older guys on the team, the vets, they are and will always be his team - but these boys, the younger ones, the future of the organisation, they aren’t his team and no amount of nesting will ever change that, because these aren’t his boys - they’re Igor’s.

With a sad smile, he steers Igor towards the middle of the mattresses, pushing him to lie down between Fil and Brett.

“You?” Igor reaches out to him, quietly asking.

Henke shakes his head, and climbs onto the couch behind them, he lets one hand fall down and laces his fingers through Igor’s. He drifts off like that, watching Igor surrounded by his teammates.


	11. Chapter 9: The Morning After

##  _ Henrik's POV _

As Henrik drifts into consciousness, the sun just starting to stream through the blinds, he notices he’s stopped holding Igor’s hand, instead, his hand is flopped off the side of the couch and has found its way to Igor’s neck. It’s a loose grip, not tight enough to hurt, or even hinder him, but proprietary nonetheless. He goes to remove it, only to find Igor snaking his own hand up to hold Henrik’s in place. He peers over the side of the couch to see the younger man looking up at him.

“I like.” Igor says softly, his voice rough with sleep.

Henrik can’t not grin at him, overwhelmed by what he feels for this beautiful young man, he wants nothing more than to haul him up into his arms and smother him in kisses - but now is not the time. Instead he settles for rubbing his thumb softly over Igor’s jawline, grinning even more when the movement makes him shudder. He draws back however as he sees the other boys start to wake, ignoring Igor’s pout as he draws his hand away.

Chyta starts to wake first, burying his face affectionately into the shoulder he’s leaning on before he blinks up bleary eyed. “Igoryok,” he says in a confused little voice, “You’re not Henke.”

Henrik lets out a little chuckle of laughter. “We swapped,” he says quietly, “Couldn’t leave Igor on the bench the whole time.”

Fil shrugs, and then snuggles down into Igor’s arms, cuddles from his goalie are cuddles from his goalie and it’s clear he doesn’t care which of them it is.

Howdy wakes next, opening his eyes and registering that it’s Igor next to him, not Henrik. “Hi favourite goalie,” he says with a grin and a kiss to Igor’s cheek.

Igor frowns a little. “Not say that,” he chides softly.

Brett shrugs, “Shesty, after that blowjob you’re my favourite teammate and my favourite goalie.”

Igor blushes a little, and then relaxes into Howdy’s arms, muttering softly in Russian, despite the fact that none of them understand him.

Henrik glances up at the clock on the wall, it’s reading just after 8 am. “Ok boys,” he sits up, “Staalsy will be here with breakfast at 9, I want you all showered and dressed before then.” He looks at the disarray of the room about them, “And mattresses back where you got them from.”

There are groans of protest, but they’re used to being made to get out of bed. Howdy protests a little bit more than the others, pressing kisses along Igor’s cheekbones. “I want to stay in bed with Shesty,” he grumbles.

“Shesty’s not staying in bed,” Henrik clips him lightly around the ear. “So both of you can get up and go shower.” He catches the look that flits across Igor’s face and adds, “Separately.”

When Igor comes out of the shower in the master ensuite, Henrik greets him with a pile of clothes in his arms. “I’d like it if you wore these,” Henrik says carefully, very definitely a request.

Igor holds his arms out for them, a pair of soft sweatpants and a Rangers’ T-shirt. He nods with a smile and goes to get dressed.

Henrik likes the idea of Igor in his clothes - they aren’t obviously his, not any of his branded things, or any team things with the number 30 and his name emblazoned on his back (that’s a thought for another day, of Igor wearing his jersey; he’s heard rumours that Igor has a Lundqvist jersey of his own and he’d had to leave the room when he’d first hear that). Still, the rest of the boys will see that Igor, unlike them, won’t be dressed in his clothes from the night before - it’s like he’d said then, Igor’s special.

By the time Marc arrives, bags of breakfast take-out in his arms, the five of them are sat round the breakfast bar in Henrik’s kitchen, mugs of coffee in front of them.

“Morning, ” Marc grins at them, placing the bags on the table, and then, while the rookies are hungrily digging in, walks around to stand behind Henrik, slipping his arms around the goalie’s waist. He presses a soft kiss to Henrik’s cheek, and then nods meaningfully at the way Igor is dressed. “Does this mean I made the right call?” he asks softly in Henrik’s ear.

Henrik lets out a derisive snort. “Jury’s still out.” He leans closer into Marc’s embrace, “You were definitely wrong about me being nesting though.”

##  _ Igor’s POV _

Igor looks up from his tea, watching Henrik relaxing into Marc’s arms and tries to ignore the clench of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Marc is a good man, and a good leader to them - he knows the two are closer than friends, but with his own relationship with Henrik tentative but undefined, he can’t help but feel it a little. 

He lets himself tune out of the conversation - he’s exhausted, and following the English is too hard. He can pick up enough words to tell that they’re talking work, not about the events of the night before. He’s not hungry, but he forces himself to eat a good breakfast - just because it’s not a game day doesn’t mean he can afford to drop calories. 

When they’ve finished eating, Marc claps his hands and tells them all to grab their stuff, explaining that he’ll drop them all home. Igor shoots a questioning look towards Henrik who shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Fighting to keep the grin off his face, he hangs back while the other rookies grab their things.

“Not coming?” Chyta asks him, reaching up to stroke Igor’s cheek softly.

Igor shakes his head, and shrugs. He doesn’t have the words to explain to Fil that he’s not even sure what he’s staying for - he has hopes sure, but he doesn’t know. Instead, he leans in and presses his face to Fil’s neck, nuzzling him softly. “Bye Filya.”

He’s not at all surprised when Henrik insists on goodbye kisses from the other four, murmuring softly to them, quiet enough that Igor can’t overhear. 

The door closes behind them, and there’s a moment of silence. Igor can feel the tension in the air - he wants to drop to his knees, but he knows Henrik wouldn’t appreciate that, not after the conversation they’d had last night - he knows they need to put some firm rules in place first. Still, he can’t help but melt inside a little when Henrik turns to him and presses his hand to the back of his neck, drawing him in close.

“I’m assuming you didn’t sleep much last night?”

Igor shakes his head.

Henrik nods, and then, using the hand he has cupped around the back of Igor’s neck, steers him towards the master bedroom. He hands him a pile of sheets. “I’d like it if you changed the sheets on my bed while I took a quick shower.” Like earlier, it’s carefully worded to be a request, not directly ordering Igor, but making it abundantly clear that if the circumstances were different, it would be precisely that. “When you’ve done that, you can have a nap in it.”

“Of course,” Igor nods, taking the sheets from him. He works quickly, and tries not to get distracted by thoughts of Henrik in the shower. He climbs into the crisp fresh sheets just as he hears the water shutting off. He knows he’s been told he can nap if he wants, but he can’t help but lie there waiting, hoping.

He glances towards the door when Henrik comes back through it, he’s wearing a soft white t-shirt and his boxer briefs, his hair still damp from the shower. His appreciation is probably evident on his face but Henrik just grins at him, and then lifts up the sheets to climb in beside him.

Igor lets the older man manoeuvre him onto his side, slipping in behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, Igor lets himself relax completely as Henrik presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“You’ve been very patient for me, Princess,” he murmurs softly, Igor can feel his lips moving against his skin. “Sleep now, we’ll talk afterwards.”

\---   
  
When Igor wakes, he’s alone in the bed, but he can smell coffee coming from the kitchen, so he drags himself upright and heads through. He finds Henrik sitting at the breakfast bar, papers spread around him, a mug of coffee in front of him. For a moment, Igor stands in the doorway, letting himself look at Henrik. For months now he’s not allowed himself to gaze at Henrik, thinking that the older man hated him but, now he knows why Henke’s been distancing himself, why he’s been so cold, he allows himself to just look and admire. He stares at the perfect swirl of his hair, the greying stubble covering his striking jaw, the furrow of concentration in his brow as he works through the papers in front of him, the soft crinkle around his eyes as something clearly amuses him. 

“Are you watching all day, Princess, or are you going to come and help me with this?” Henrik doesn’t even look up from his papers.

Igor blushes, and then grins stepping forward. “Help,” he says, slipping into the seat next to Henrik and stealing a sip of coffee from his cup.

“Good.” Henke turns to look at him for the first time, his startling blue eyes filled with fondness. “Because it’s very difficult to draw up this contract without you.”

“Oh.” Igor pauses for a moment, “Already? You start?”

Henrik shrugs, “I’ve made a few notes and written down what we need to do.” A flicker of uncertainty flashes across his face, “If you’d rather wait…”

“No.” Igor grins. “Now best. Now very best.”

It takes them nearly an hour, two more cups of coffee, and a lot of help from the translation app on Igor’s phone to draw up a rough draft of their agreement. Hockey is sacrosanct, that is the first and most absolute rule, whilst Igor is more than happy to have Henrik’s guidance and suggestions on his game, his training and other parts of his professional life, that’s exactly what it will be, suggestions. Igor agrees reluctantly to a trial period of one month, he doesn’t see the need for it, but Henrik does - so they agree that in one month, the whole contract will be up for review. While they are at his house, Henrik explains that he expects traditional submissive deference from Igor - but less so out of the house. He also explains that he doesn’t mind the rest of the team knowing that they scene together, that they’re fucking, but they cannot know that it’s more than casual (the one exception there being Marc, who will undoubtedly be told everything).

Igor lays down his hard limits, but happily hands over control of anything sexual up to those limits over to Henrik, and feels a jolt of pleasure as he does. They make note that while Igor will continue to live his life as he had done previously, Henrik could at any time jump in and tell him what to wear, or tell him to come over, change something small about his day to day life, then he will do just that. That Igor should check in either verbally or via text or phone at least once a day - that seemed a little pointless to Igor at least for the next month, because the way their lives were, they’d see each other every day regardless. Eventually however, they’ve drawn up a document that they both agree on, and signed their names at the bottom - it has no legal standing of course, it’s nothing more than an agreement, but it’s reassurance, for both of them, that they’ve both agreed to this.

“So,” Igor looks at him, a sparkle in his eye. “When we start?”

Henrik lets out a low chuckle, clasping Igor by the back of his neck and drawing him close. He slots Igor’s body against his own, and leans forward, grazing his jaw with his teeth before he whispers in his ear. “We start now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You @ me.... BUT WHAAAAAT YOU WROTE US THIS MUCH AND THEY DIDN'T EVEN BANG????
> 
> This was the main fic to set UP the verse, there are other shorter fics coming, so follow the series for updates if you want that.


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